


Waiting

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-07
Updated: 2001-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is like nothing, because it is everything. (William Golding)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

"I thought it'd be quicker this way." 

"Man, I told you we shoulda gone inside." 

"Yeah, yeah. You know best." 

"Well, duh." 

They sat in irritable silence for a few minutes, Jim tapping rhythmically on the bottom of the steering wheel. 

"You ever study drums?" 

"Naw. I wanted to." He pounded a flourish against the wheel and dashboard, "but my dad wouldn't let me. Too noisy. What would the neighbors think. All that stuff. 

"A friend's older brother had drums, though, so I used to go over there and mess around. He showed me a few things. He was a nice guy," he added meditatively. The line to the bank's drive-through window inched forward. "You play guitar." 

"Yeah. Mom taught me, and then a couple of her friends. I'd like to study again someday. If life ever slows down." 

"Heh." 

"Yeah." 

"When you retire." 

Blair laughed shortly. "Now _that's_ an image. Retirement." They both stared out the windshield. "You could retire when you're, like, fifty-five, right?" 

"Yeah. I could." Jim shifted in his seat. "I think about it. No such thing as an old cop, and I don't think I could be an administrator. Maybe get another job." 

"Security guard at a mall." 

"Ha ha." 

"Well, like what?" 

"Well, like at Rainier. I could teach in the Criminal Justice department. Or at the police academy." 

"Really? You'd like to teach?" 

Jim shrugged, not looking at Blair. "You teach. You have me come in sometimes and lecture. You think I could do it?" 

"Yeah, man, I just. Yeah. You'd be a great teacher. You have the patience, and you sure have the experience." 

Jim glanced at him almost shyly. "So you think it's possible." 

Blair nodded. "Oh, yeah. Good idea. I shoulda thought of it." 

"What'll you do when you retire?" 

"Like I'm gonna retire. I'll just work till I drop, like my zayde, my grandpa. Died behind the counter of the little store he owned." 

"That's a good way to go." 

"Yeah." Blair smiled. "Musta been hard on the customer who found him, though." 

Both men laughed, and the line inched forward a bit more. 

* * *

"So who we waiting for today?" 

"A snitch you don't know. Guy named Booker. They call him Bookie, for obvious reasons." 

"Likes to bet on the ponies, hunh." 

Jim nodded, and sipped his coffee, then frowned. "Tastes like brown water." He pushed the cup aside, drumming the countertop with his fingertops. "He's late." 

"Not by much." 

"Too much, Miss Sunshine." They glared at each other, but then Jim shrugged and they relaxed. 

"You think that pie's any good?" 

"Which one?" 

"The cherry. Use your sentinel sight and smell." 

Jim gave him a look, but then obediently trained his vision on the large slice in the mirrored case. After a few seconds he shook his head. "Stale. I can see sugar crystals in the red goop, which is dyed, and I'm pretty sure the crust was made with lard." 

"Eww. How can you tell?" 

"Dunno. Smell, maybe. Smells off." 

"Think I'll pass." 

"Wise move." 

They sighed, and stared ahead. Blair began swiveling on the stool, until Jim put his hand over Blair's arm. "That's enough. You're making me dizzy." 

"How much longer?" 

"Don't you have something to read?" 

"Yeah, but it's so fucking boring. Let's go somewhere. Let's go camping." 

"Now?" 

"No, not now. This weekend. It's still warm enough." 

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. Maybe." He looked at Blair, his hand warm on Blair's arm. "Okay." 

"Cool." Blair continued to swivel, but more gently. Jim sighed and glanced at his watch. 

* * *

"Christ, what are those people buying?" 

Jim looked at his watch. "We'll never get out of here. You wanna wait in line and I'll go get us some hotdogs?" 

"I thought you said you didn't eat stuff sold at Home Depot." 

"That was before we'd been here two days." 

"It can't be that much longer." Blair leaned around the cart he was pushing and past the people ahead of them. "Okay, it will be that much longer. Sure. Here," he started digging in his jeans for money. 

"Naw. My treat." 

"That's not fair. You're buying all this paint for the loft. And last year, you bought the doors to my room, too." 

"Those doors were self-protection. I bought them for me, not you." 

"Ha ha." 

"Hey, it's true." He stalked off toward the big front entrance and the waiting hotdog stand out front. Blair was able to roll the cart forward three or four feet by the time he got back. 

"Thanks." 

"I put everything on it." 

"S'good." That was said through a mouthful of hotdog and bun. 

"Chief, you got mustard on your chin." 

"So do you." 

"Why don't they open another register?" 

"Why do people buy so much?" 

"Mister All-property-is-theft speaks." 

"Heh." The line moved forward a bit. "You know what Marx said? He said that history repeats itself; first as tragedy and then as farce." 

Jim raised his eyebrows, and nodded. "Like you and Maya?" There was a long silence. "Hey, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." 

"No. Yeah." Blair sighed. "Shit. What a mess." 

"You loved her, hunh, Chief?" 

"I thought I did. Now." He shrugged. 

The line moved forward a few more feet. 

* * *

"My butt hurts." 

"Too much information." 

"Well, you're over there shifting like you've got hemorrhoids." 

"Thank you for that image. Look, Blair, this is what stakeouts are like. We've been riding together for what, two years now? Bit more? How many stakeouts have we sat through together?" 

"Too many," Blair muttered, and shifted. "No wonder my butt hurts." 

"Jesus Fuck, Chief, enough about your butt, okay? Do you wanna go home? I could radio for a black and white to pick you up at the corner." 

Blair twisted his head, looking out the passenger window. "No. Not really." 

"Didn't you bring something to read? Or your notes?" 

"Jim, I." 

There was a long pause. Jim stared out the windshield; Blair stared out the passenger window. Suddenly a car engine roared and the black Dodge they'd been waiting for flew past them. Jim threw the truck in reverse and began careening down the street backwards, Blair clinging to the dashboard, grabbing the mike to call it in. 

* * *

"How's your head?" 

"Christ." Jim's response was muffled; he sat rigidly on the shiny couch in the doctor's office as they waited for a nurse to call them in. "Take me home, Blair." 

"Jim, I can't. You know these physicals are mandated." 

"Just take me home." 

Jim's eyes were closed, his hands gripping the seat of the couch; Blair sat next to him, staring worriedly at him. He sighed. "I think your headache is psychosomatic," he whispered. "Because you hate doctors. But this'll be okay. It's just a physical. 

"Take a deep breath." When Jim continued to breathe in shallow pants, he repeated, "Take a deep breath, Jim." After a few seconds, Jim obeyed. "Good. Good. Let it out slowly, slowly. That's good. Now take another one. Good. Can you relax your hands? Put them in your lap, okay? Good. That's good. Keep breathing nice and slow. Visualize the pain leaving when you exhale, okay? What color is the pain, Jim?" 

"Yellow." 

"Okay, take another deep breath. Good. Now let it out, and visualize the yellow leaving your head. See it going? It's going. Each breath you take helps, doesn't it." 

Jim nodded a fraction of an inch, and then cracked open an eye. "It's better." 

Blair smiled, and patted his arm. "Keep breathing, okay? I'll be here." 

"Sorry I'm such a wuss." 

"You're not a wuss. For Christ's sake, Ellison. What're you smiling at?" 

"Ellison," he murmured. "You only call me that when you're pissed." 

"Ellison, shmellison. Just keep breathing." 

"You're not going to shout 'boo' at me?" Jim took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders. "It really does help," he said, wonder coloring his voice. 

"And you're surprised because?" 

Jim looked at his friend, sitting so near him, concern creasing his face. "I'm not. Not really." 

"Keep relaxing. Every time you go to the doctor, we have to go through this. Why is that?" 

"Dunno. I suppose you do." 

"You bet I do. It's the loss of control. Loss of dignity, too, I suppose; those gowns they make you wear. Wish you'd let me come back with you." 

"Yeah." He looked sharply at Blair. "Wait. Why?" 

Blair grinned. "To check out your butt, why else?" 

"Jesus," Jim muttered, blushing slightly. 

"Mr. Ellison?" the nurse called, looking around the waiting room. Jim rose, tossing the unread magazine back on the stack. He didn't meet Blair's eyes, but he heard his breathing very clearly. 

* * *

The rain flung itself against the windshield as if tossed from a bucket; the wipers really couldn't keep up. Wind pushed angrily at the pickup and whistled through the cracks. "Shit," Blair muttered, and huddled closer to the heating vents. "Can you see anything?" 

Jim shook his head. "Red tail lights." He leaned forward, peering out, trying to see through the slanting lines of the downpour. "It's an accident, about a mile up. Lotta cops, ambulance, already there." He leaned back and sighed. "It'll be a while, Chief." 

"Shit," he said again. 

"I'll pull off the next exit." 

"That'll take, like, an hour." 

"Yeah. It will." 

"Shit." 

Jim fiddled with the heater. "Gotta get this sucker fixed." Blair didn't answer. "You gonna be all right?" He shrugged, and shivered. "Fuck." 

They sat in silence for several minutes, the truck moving forward only a few feet. When Blair shivered again, Jim smacked the bottom of the heater with the palm of his hand. "Hey, hey," Blair said hoarsely. "That won't help. It's okay." 

"It's fucked." 

"Yeah." 

"Listen, I think there's an old jacket or something behind the seat. Why don't you look for it?" 

"I'm okay, okay?" 

"No, you're fucking not okay. I can hear your teeth chattering from here; you've got a fever; we're in the middle of a goddam hurricane." 

"Chill, Jim. It's a little cold; it's a little storm; it's a little traffic jam." 

Jim scowled out the windshield at the intractable traffic ahead of them, not answering. At last he said, "That was really fucking stupid, what you did." 

Blair sighed dramatically, then started coughing. "I'm not going to discuss this. I did it, okay? Just deal with it." 

"Yeah, well, you're not doing it again, okay? Just deal with it." 

"Look, you are not my guardian. It's my decision." 

"It fucking is _not_ your decision, Sandburg!" They glared at each other. "Your nose is running." Blair wiped it with his sleeve; Jim grimaced and began digging in his pockets until he found a tattered kleenex. 

"Thanks." Blair blew sloppily into it. "You're still not my mom." 

The corner of Jim's mouth tugged upwards briefly, and he glanced at Blair from the corner of his eyes. "Lucky for you." Blair snorted, and wiped his nose again. "Come on, Chief. I need to hear it. You're not going to do this again." 

Blair looked away, out the window at the still pounding rain, and shook his head. 

"Chief." 

"No, Jim. Incacha said --" 

"Incacha's dead. He was dying when he said it. I loved Incacha; you know that. But he's not, he didn't. I don't think he meant for you to do this." 

"Who knows what he meant, Jim? He's dead. He died in our fucking arms, remember? Those were his last words to us. I take them seriously, even if you don't." 

"I do take them seriously, goddammit. Shit, Blair. He. I." Jim sighed gustily, and rubbed his face. "Please. I don't want you doing this." 

"You don't even know what 'this' is. You think I'm gonna be taking ayahuasca or something?" 

"Well, what the hell were you doing out in the middle of the night, in the rain?" 

"It wasn't raining." 

"It was the middle of the night." 

"Yes. Yes, I was out at night. I am often out at night. With you on stakeouts. With friends. At the movies. By myself. What the fuck is wrong with being out at night with a group of contemporary shamans?" 

"How can you have shamans in the middle of downtown Cascade? And that's a dangerous park at night; Jesus, how long have you worked with cops? And it was too raining. Your cold is like ten times worse today." 

"That doesn't imply cause and effect." 

"Well, I'm fucking _inferring_ cause and effect. Please." Jim paused and let the truck roll forward a few yards. "I'm serious." 

"So am I. I'm studying anthropology. Shamanic studies is an appropriate course of study for someone in my position. Even if Incacha hadn't said anything to me. Which he did. These people are serious students and have trained all over the world. It's an honor that they let me participate." 

"Drumming." 

"Yes, drumming. Dancing. Learning to see." 

Jim shook his head again. "I don't like it." 

"News flash: Jim Ellison doesn't like it." 

"Fuck you." 

"You wish." 

Jim laughed, a bit. "Not today, buddy. I'm a little too pissed at you." 

"Look, Jim." Blair waited a few seconds; at last, Jim met his eyes. "I'm going to do this. One way or another. I'd like to do it with your support. If I can't have that, I'd at least like to do it without arguing about it with you. What do you need from me?" 

"Don't do it." 

"Not an option." 

"We're almost at the off ramp." 

"Goody. What do you need from me?" 

Jim took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Blair really was the immovable object when he set his mind to something; after nearly three years, he should know that. "Can you not do it at night?" 

Blair turned his head, but not in time to hide his smile. "Yeah. I can not do it at night. Mom." Jim smacked the back of his head. "Ow." 

"Okay. That's one. Two: no drugs." 

"No drugs." 

"Of any kind, Blair. I know you. You'll say: Oh, this isn't illegal in Cascade; therefore, it isn't really a drug; therefore, I didn't promise Jim not to use it. No drugs." 

"No drugs." He was openly smiling now. 

"Three: you'll let me know what you're doing and where you'll be." 

"Deal. Is that all?" 

"For now." He aimed the truck toward the off-ramp; the surface streets were also clogged, but at least there was a service station at the corner ahead. "Almost there, buddy." 

"Thank god, or I'm gonna pee in your thermos." 

* * *

"You really think Murphy killed Donoghue?" 

Jim shrugged. "He had the means and the opportunity. I think he had a motive." 

"That Donoghue had second thoughts." 

"It's a theory." 

"Jesus." Blair stared out the windshield. "Can you imagine killing your partner? I guess so; you came up with this theory." 

"I've thought about killing you at times." 

"Ha ha. No, really, Jim. It'd be like killing your brother or your spouse." 

"You've worked with cops long enough to know that most murders are done by family." 

"Jesus," Blair said again. 

"You think you can persuade Corinna to, to, ah, do the bembe again?" 

"I think so. I hope so. I don't know how else to help her recover those memories." 

"You've helped me remember stuff." 

"Yeah." He smiled brilliantly at Jim for a brief second, then looked away. "It's the same principle. Relaxation, re-enactment, remembering." 

"Okay. What d'you want?" 

"Uh. Just get me a burger and fries. Iced tea." 

"One regular, one super. Two fries. Iced tea, chocolate shake," Jim said into the little speaker after it squawked at him. 

"Can you understand what they say?" 

He shook his head. "I have to listen to what they're saying inside, not through the speaker. Too much feedback, I think." 

"You ever have trouble with that?" 

They rolled forward a car length. "Yeah. Actually, mostly I can't hear them, even from inside." 

"Good. I can never understand a word they say." 

"You got any Tums?" 

"Like I'll eat with you without them." 

"That Corinna; you like her?" 

"Why?" 

Jim shrugged, popping a pink and a yellow Tums, then talking through them. "Just your thing, you know. Santeria. Strange religions." 

"Plus she's really pretty." 

He nodded. "She is. And nice. Responsible." 

"Oh, hell, she's lost all appeal for me right there." They grinned at each other. Jim's stomach growled; Blair shook his head, still smiling. "Lotta class, man." 

* * *

"So how serious were you about Katie?" Blair shrugged, got up, and walked to the window, staring out at darkened parking lot. A couple pushed past him and he stepped closer to the window, his breath fogging it. "Come here, Chief. Don't make me shout across a busy room." After a few seconds, Blair turned and walked back to the bar, sliding onto the stool next to Jim. "What's wrong?" Blair shrugged, and sipped his beer. "You said you felt like you could really like this one." 

"Come on, Jim. It was just hormones. No big deal." 

They stared into the mirror behind the bar, not meeting each other's eyes. After a nearly a minute of silence, Jim said, "It's just that you said, you said that with a woman who has a kid, you're second and that's okay with you. That's not right, Chief. You deserve to be first in someone's life. Don't settle for second. I don't care how much you like her." 

Another silence stretched on between them, filled with the noises of the bar. Jim looked at his friend, sitting quietly beside him; Blair's face was softened by fatigue and perhaps sadness. At last he said, "I hear you, Jim. It's just I'm nearly thirty. A lot of my friends are married; some even have kids already." 

"I know, buddy." He took a swallow of beer, enjoying its cool bitterness in his throat. "Hell, I'm nearly forty. All I've got to show for my life is the loft and you." 

"Cop of the year award." 

"Yeah. Thanks to you." 

Blair smiled slightly, and nodded. "Maybe." 

Glancing around at the other patrons, Jim leaned a bit closer to Blair. "You're pretty much number one in my life right now." 

Blair turned his face up to look at Jim. The bar was warm and noisy; both men were sweating slightly, and hungry. It had been a long day and they'd missed lunch. Just then their pager went off. "That means your table's ready," the bartender said as he wiped the counter in front of them. They picked up their beers and wound their way back to the hostess' station. 

* * *

"I can't talk about it, Blair." 

"Did I ask you to?" 

Jim threw himself on the couch, not even bothering to pull off his jacket, just tossing his duffel bag on the floor. "I can hear you thinking." 

"You fucking cannot. Stop pretending you can read my mind. You're fucking clueless." 

"I am not clueless!" he roared, and instantly Sandburg was in his face. 

"Fuck you, Ellison. You are clueless as a newborn baby, and about as bright. You fucked that bitch." 

"I did not." This was said more softly. "I didn't, Chief. I swear to god. I know it looked bad --" 

"It looked shitty." 

"I know. I just -- she. Shit." He shook his head. "I can't talk about it." 

"Then stop talking about it already." Blair carried his own bags into his room and stood looking around. "Hey, my stuff's back." When Jim didn't answer, he set the bags down and walked back out into the living room. Jim lay back on the couch, his feet hanging over one end, an arm draped across his eyes. Blair watched him for a long time. 

At last he turned back into his room and carefully shut the doors behind him. He lay down as well, on top of his futon, and pressed his face into the bedspread. It smelled a little stale, a little dusty. He wondered what it smelled like to Jim. 

At last he fell asleep, the exhaustion of the flight and his recent bout with pneumonia catching up with him. When he woke, it was dark out and his throat was dry and scratchy. If he got bronchitis again, Jim would have a nervous breakdown. He dry-swallowed his antibiotics, then hunted through his backpack until he found a half-empty bottle of water and drank it down. He stared at the doors, wondering what he was waiting for. It was dark out there, too. 

It was just dark. 

* * *

The silence stretched on, thin and sharp as a wire, brittle as ice. Occasionally, staticky voices from the radio would break the silence, or a nearby car engine, and once a woman singing, but nothing inside the cab of the truck. 

Jim turned in his seat to look at Blair, who was staring dully through the windshield at the house they had under surveillance. His hair was pulled tightly back, and his earrings were gone. He looked tired and defeated. 

At last, Jim said, "It's two, Chief. McIlroy and Sniegowski will be here soon." Blair nodded and sat up straighter. After a few minutes more had passed, Jim said, "You got any plans for the weekend?" Blair shook his head. 

Jim resumed his silent wait. The occupants of the house they were watching were sound asleep; he could hear their soft breaths, smell their sleepiness even at this distance. Over it all, he could hear and smell Blair A little off, a little sour, like milk about to turn. He looked at his friend. 

For weeks they'd sat in silent observation, of each other, of their co-workers, of various suspects and perps and victims. Jim knew he was, by nature and nurture, a taciturn man. But his disinclination to talk in combination with Sandburg's willingness to follow Jim's lead had resulted in this dumb show. Dumb in both senses of the word. 

He swallowed. "Chief." After a few seconds, Blair turned his head. "You okay?" 

He shrugged. 

"I know Naomi called; I heard the message she left. Did you call her back?" 

"Not yet." 

"You gonna?" 

"I guess. Why?" 

Now Jim shrugged. "Dunno. Just thought. I know how close you guys are. If you won't talk with me, I thought maybe you'd talk to her." 

For the first time in a while, Blair looked interested. "Talk about what?" 

Jim stared at him. "About what? About, about. Whatever." He waved a dismissive hand. "Forget it." 

"No, man. Talk about what?" 

Sighing, Jim said, "Everything that happened." 

"I thought you weren't ready to go there." 

He lightly drummed the bottom of the steering wheel, a comforting pattern to his ears. "Yeah. I mean, I'm not. But I think you are." 

Blair bit his bottom lip, his eyes wide in the dark night. Jim could see how large the pupils had grown as he tried to see Jim. "I think I am, too," he said softly, and Jim nodded. "But not with you?" 

After a few seconds, Jim whispered, "Yeah. With me would be okay. I guess." 

The two men simultaneously sat back in their seat and stared ahead, away from each other. "What did it mean, Jim?" 

Tears filled Jim's eyes. What did Blair's death mean? What did Jim's behavior mean? What did that bizarre animal imagery mean? "I don't know," he murmured. 

An elderly and battered Buick pulled up next to them; McIlroy and Sniegowski had arrived. Giving Blair an apologetic look, Jim slid from the truck and spoke briefly with them while Blair called it in. Within moments, Jim was back; he started the engine and backed slowly out of the alley, not turning on his headlights until they were on the street again. 

"Want something to eat?" he asked, surprised at how normal his voice sounded. 

"Yeah. Let's go to that Denny's at the freeway. It's the only place I can think of that'd be open this late." Jim nodded and took the next light. Denny's. As good a place as any to discuss mystical experiences and changing relationships. 

As good a place as any to wait to learn his future. 

* * *

Blair rolled his eyes at Jim as he walked back from the monitor. "It still says 'delayed.' I talked to the guy at the counter and he thinks it'll be here in about forty minutes. 

"You know, you don't have to hang around. I'm perfectly capable of getting on the plane to Oakland by myself." 

Jim shrugged and folded the newspaper. "Hey, I promised Naomi. Besides, Simon won't let me work until you get back, thanks to Dennis Chung's office. Might as well sit here with you as at the PD." 

Blair sat next to Jim, resting a foot on his duffel bag. "Sorry. We need to work on zone outs. You need to stop focusing on stuff like that; you got Joel suspicious." 

"Yeah. I wasn't thinking, though. I mean, I was thinking, but about solving the murder." 

"Yeah." Both men sighed. 

"So what's your mom doing in Oakland?" 

"Actually, she isn't in Oakland, but it's the nearest airport. She's visiting her cousin in Napa. I haven't seen him since I was a little kid." 

"You give Naomi a kiss for me." 

"She's my mom, Jim." 

"Yeah, yeah. She's a nice lady, Chief." After a pause, Jim asked, "You gonna tell her, uh, you know. Everything that happened." 

Blair shrugged, not looking at Jim. "I'll see. Depends." 

They stared out the enormous windows onto the tarmac. For a change, Cascade was clear, but the plane was coming in from Denver and had been delayed there due to storms in Los Angeles. Which didn't make sense to either of them, but was what the guy who'd given Blair his boarding pass had told them. 

"So, Chief. You were gonna tell me the story about getting admitted to Rainier. How did a scrawny kid like you get admitted so young anyway?" 

"Scrawny. I was not scrawny. I was little for my age. Just because you're a hulking neanderthal . . ." Jim elbowed him. "Okay, you're not. Hulking or a neanderthal. But I wasn't scrawny." He elbowed Jim back, who grabbed his side, oofed, and grimaced dramatically. 

"So tell the story already." 

Blair sighed and settled back, idly flipping his boarding pass in his hand. "Mom and I were in Berkeley for a couple months that year, at a Buddhist monastery, studying za-zen, which she's really good at. I was trying to study it, too, but I've always been a little hyperactive." 

"Oh, now that's news." 

Blair never gave Jim the satisfaction of an irritated glance. "Anyway, she got invited to spend a couple weeks with some friends in Bali and got permission for me to stay at the monastery. Looking back, I think she was probably visiting a lover, but I was just a kid and used to her taking off, so I didn't think anything of it." He paused, but characteristically, Jim didn't say anything unkind about his mother. 

"The monks were pretty nice to me. I had to go to classes, but not the kind you went to, I bet. I studied ichibana, which is flower arranging, archery, za-zen, the history of Buddhism, and calligraphy. I really liked it there. I've always liked quiet, structured environments. Hence my love of the monastery I took you to. And Rainier, for that matter." 

Jim leaned back in his seat to look at Blair, who continued to stare out the windows. He remained silent and attentive, waiting for the rest of the story. 

"The letter from Rainier finally reached me there, at the monastery, after being forwarded several times. I knew it was good news because it was a big thick envelope. I was so excited. I got it in the morning but waited to open it till late in the afternoon. I wished my mom was there so bad; I really wanted to share this with her. 

"Anyway, I went into the zendo and sat down --" 

"What's a zendo?" 

"It's the room where you do the meditations and za-zen, sitting zen. Kind of like a church. Anyway, I went into the zendo to do a little meditation, some deep breathing, get calm. Then I opened the letter. And I discovered that I'd not only been admitted, but had been awarded a full scholarship that included a ten percent discount at the bookstore. I couldn't believe it." 

He finally looked at Jim. "You can't believe what this meant to me. All mom and I had to do was find money for me to live on, Jim. A full scholarship for the first year, with the possibility of continuing if I did well. And work-study money, too. Jesus. It was the most important thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life. Really, it still is, right up until I met you." 

Jim shifted slightly, but didn't speak. 

"So, I'm pretty fucking excited. I jump up and start dancing around, just sort of hopping around at first, but then really kind of _dancing_ , you know? Jumping and spinning. God, it was, it was _incredible_. I felt like I could fly with happiness. 

"And then -- this big monk. Edward." He dropped his voice nearly an octave and made a fist. "Edward. Edward never really bothered me, although when I fell asleep in za-zen he'd smack my hands to wake me up. But when he walked in and saw me dancing in the zendo -- wow. He grabbed at me. I kept on dancing, but keeping away from him, you know? Trying to tell him. I got admitted! Edward, I got admitted to Rainier! But he was _not_ happy. 

"So he finally grabs me and he." Blair stopped abruptly, and Jim realized he was blushing furiously. He leaned over and whispered, "He put me over his knee and spanked the hell out of me." 

Jim burst out laughing, in disbelief and embarrassment. "You're kidding me. How old were you? Fifteen?" 

"Yeah. Jesus, can you believe it? I fought as hard as I could, but this guy was big, like, bigger than you. Simon-sized. And he's whaling on me and it fucking hurts, and I'm yelling at the top of my lungs. You gotta realize, Jim; nobody had ever hit me like that before in my life. Plus, here I'd just been admitted to college and he's treating me like a little kid. I was so pissed. 

"But then Joten Roshi comes in. The abbot of the monastery. What are you doing? he asks, very calmly. Edward stops hitting me and yells: He was dancing in the zendo! That's inappropriate behavior! And he starts to hit me again, but Roshi does this _move_ \--" and Blair flicked his hands one-two -- "and catches Edward's hand. Wow. It was incredible. This little guy -- cause Roshi was littler than me, even then -- and he just _stops_ Edward cold." 

"What the hell did you do?" 

Blair made a face. "I was a kid; what d'you think I did? I told Edward to fuck off, called him an asshole. He tried to hit me again, but Roshi wouldn't let him. I rolled off his lap and away and kicked him in the shin. Edward's yelling, I'm yelling, but Roshi is just silent, holding Edward down with one hand. 

"He told Edward to calm himself. Edward took a couple deep breaths and then bowed his head and apologized. Said he shouldn't have been fighting in the zendo and was ashamed of himself. I said: Well, you should be, you big jerk. But he just sat there. 

"So Roshi gives me his hand and helps me up and we walk out into the garden. Really beautiful place; mom and I spent a lot of time there. We used to weed the garden for a couple hours a day. Roshi asked me what happened and I told him. 

"And he was so happy for me. He hugged me, and patted me on the back, and told me I was a bright kid, too bright to be fighting someone three times my size. Which was true. 

"And he reminded me that, at that monastery, the zendo was treated very formally, which I really did know. And I started thinking about dancing in there and felt bad. Like I'd contaminated it or something. 

"But he said no. He said we all need to dance in the zendo, that we're always already dancing in the zendo. And he hugged me and sent me back to my room to write my mom." 

The two men sat in silence for nearly a minute, watching the people pass in front of them. "So you danced in the zendo," Jim murmured, and draped his arm across the back of Blair's seat. "You got a picture of yourself at that age?" 

"Why? Gonna make fun of the scrawny kid?" 

"Hell, no, Chief. No way." He lightly rubbed his thumb over Blair's collar. "No way." 

* * *

"No, listen. I told you before: I'm not a new patient. I just changed insurance companies, okay? I've been with Slater for, like, ever." 

Blair made an impatient face at Jim, who in turn made an I'm-sorry-you're-being-hassled face back at him. 

"Yeah, I'm still here. No, no. I've talked to my doctor; I've talked to his business manager. Now I'm talking to you. Just sign me up with him. 

"Yes, I'll wait. Wait, what's your name? Linda? Okay, Linda. I'll hold." 

He dropped his head back and took a deep breath, then pointed his right forefinger at his temple and crooked it, as if firing a gun. Jim laughed on his way to the fridge where he got Blair a bottle of water. 

"I can't believe this. The doctor's office says the insurance company has to sign me up, and the insurance company says it's the doctor's office's responsibility. What's the big deal?" 

Jim shrugged, and sat on the yellow chair across from Blair. "Still on hold?" 

"Oh, man, I'll be lucky if she ever comes back. I'm gonna ask to speak to her supervisor next." 

"Good." 

After nearly a minute had passed, Blair said, "Hey, what's the most disgusting thing about being a sentinel?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"Super-sight, super-smell, super-duper everything. I might be able to guess the good stuff, but what's the worst?" 

Jim thought for a minute. "Did you know that whenever anybody talks to you, they also spit on you?" 

Blair made another face. "Okay, that's disgusting. You mean, right now, while I'm talking to you, I'm spitting on you?" 

"Well, you're too far from me now. It's mostly landing on the coffee table." 

"Jesus. No wonder you're always wiping stuff down." 

"Tell me about it." 

"Anything else?" 

"Most people don't wash their hands after they go to the bathroom." 

"Eww! Oh, fuck, fuck, I'm sorry I asked!" He closed his eyes and squinched up his face. "God, that is so disgusting." His eyes popped open again. "You can tell that?" 

"Yeah. Took me a while to figure it out, but, yeah." 

"Man. How do you deal with that? What if you have to shake hands with them?" 

"I try not to shake hands much now; don't know if you ever noticed that. But sometimes you just have to." 

"God, it's a wonder you don't have that hand-washing phobia. God." 

"Are you really sorry you asked?" 

"Uh, no. I guess not really. Wow." 

"Yeah." 

"Well, then, what's the best thing about -- Yeah, yeah, hi Linda. I'm here." He listened intently, pressing the phone hard against his ear. "So you want my doctor's office to call his insurance representative and say it's okay?" He sighed heavily. "Okay, I'll call them again. I may be calling you back. Yeah. Bye." 

He tossed the phone onto the couch and fell back against it, spreading his arms across the top. "Oh my god, I hate bureaucracies. How come everything in my life is a bureaucracy? First school, then the PD, and of course all the insurance companies and banks and shit we have to deal with now." 

"Life in urban culture." 

He propped his head up on one hand to look at Jim. "You sound like me." 

"Shit," Jim snorted. "After how many years? It's a wonder I don't look like you." 

"Only in your favorite dreams." 

They smiled at each other. 

* * *

"Back to school," Blair murmured. Jim looked at him sharply. 

"You sure you want to do this, Sandburg?" 

"How many times have you asked me that?" Jim didn't answer, although he blushed slightly. "And what have I answered you every time?" 

Jim looked away and said, "I'll take the box of your sheets and towels down, put 'em in the trunk." 

"Thanks." He bent over and continued packing. He'd already filled his backpack and duffel bag and was now wadding the last of his clothes and books into an old suitcase of Carolyn's that she'd left in the storage room of the loft. He glanced at the list the Academy had sent him of supplies to bring, mentally checking off all the items. He really was nearly finished. Nearly ready. Nearly through waiting. 

He heard Jim stomp back into the apartment, grumbling at the ever-present light drizzle. He zipped the suitcase closed and hauled it out to the others sitting in the living room. For a moment, he and Jim looked at each other; then Jim looked away. "I'll take them down, too," he said. 

"I'll help." 

"No. No, let me. I'll be right back." And without looking at Blair again, Jim hurried out the door and down the stairs carrying all three bags. Blair shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a few seconds, then went to the bathroom. 

When he opened the bathroom door again, Jim was standing in the living room, looking around at it. He slowly and hesitantly walked toward Jim, stopping only a foot away. Jim said, "I got something for you." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small rectangular box. 

"You didn't have to --" 

"I know. I just wanted to." 

Blair nodded, staring at the box, and finally opened it. "Oh, man. I really needed a watch." He looked up at his friend's anxious face. "Thanks, Jim. Really. I. This means a lot." 

"Put it on." 

"Yeah, of course." He carefully pulled the watch from the clasps holding it in and handed the empty box to Jim, then wrapped the band around his left wrist and buckled it on. It was heavy, dark gold with a dark leather band. Not an expensive watch, but not cheap, either. Good and solid. Like Jim. 

He shook his head and swallowed. "Thanks," he said again, inadequately. 

"You're welcome." 

"I didn't get you anything." 

"That's okay." 

For a few seconds more they stood there, and then Blair said, "I have to go, Jim. I can't wait any longer." 

"I know." But neither man moved. 

"Don't walk down with me. You've been in and out of the rain all day; you're gonna catch cold, and I won't be here to take care of you." His voice got a little ragged at the end, so Blair shut up, swallowing hard again. At last, he forced his feet to move. 

When he put his hand on the door knob, he twisted to look back at Jim, who was watching him guardedly. Again they stared at each other, and then Blair opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, and Jim took a step toward him. Blair released the door knob and turned to face him, opening his arms, and Jim stepped into them, holding Blair tightly. Blair's face was crushed against Jim's clavicle and he turned his head a bit so he could breathe, unwilling to release Jim just yet. 

"I can hear your watch," Jim whispered. 

Blair sniffed. "I really gotta go." 

They embraced for nearly a minute more and then slowly pulled away, leaving their hands on each other's arms. "Take care, Chief." 

"You, too." 

"We'll talk." 

"And email. And maybe you'll try that instant messaging thing I showed you." 

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Listen, if you need any money, or help, you'll let me know right away, right? You've got all my numbers on your cell phone." 

"I will." 

Again they stared at each other, Blair aware of the heaviness in his chest and throat. He was glad he'd packed a couple bottles of water in the car for the trip. 

At last he dropped his hands from Jim's arms and turned again to go. This time, though, Jim caught him and pulled him back. He felt a swift kiss pressed again his forehead and felt the warmth of Jim's breath against his face. He had to go now, he knew, or he'd never leave. 

Without another word, he left, firmly shutting the door to the loft behind him and then striding down the hallway. 

"Twelve weeks," he reminded himself and Jim, wiping his eyes. "Only twelve weeks." 

* * *

Dear Jim: 

I'm sitting outside my advisor's office, waiting to meet with him. No problem; it's mandatory. Just like being an undergraduate again. Entertaining, in its way. 

I have to tell you that all those years writing up your reports and following you around on cases has certainly paid off. I've tested out of three classes and hope to test out of more. I'm also tutoring for the composition class; you would be amazed, or at least I was, at how many college graduates can't write a coherent sentence. They all sound like my grandma: Toss mama from the train a kiss! 

Okay, I made that up. But kind of. 

What are you doing? 

I've been waiting fifteen minutes; how much longer do you think I should hang here? Yeah, I know; until he calls me in. 

Hey, he just stuck his head out and said it would be a few more minutes. So now I can write you. Except I don't have anything to say. I'm fine. Sleeping well. Settled in okay. 

How are you? Are you on the street at all, or has Simon kept you doing paperwork? I hope the latter; it's good for you. You'll appreciate me all the more when I return. Ha ha. 

Actually, I'm writing to thank you for the care package. That was great. I really needed socks and stuff, and it was cool that you remembered my favorite candy bars. The Italian ones, too, so you had to go to that little Italian deli all the way across town. Thank you, Jim. 

I miss you. 

* * *

"We don't have to do this now." 

"Yes, we do. What, you wanna put all this back and just go?" 

"We could leave it in the cart and go. It's their own fault; they should hire more help. Open a couple more registers. The management could afford to hire another checker or two; they can't be earning more than minimum wage." 

"No." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "We didn't even have to do this tonight. It's stupid to do this tonight. You're in town for, what, two days and one night, and we come here? To wait in line at a grocery store? We could have gone to a movie, or out to dinner, or for a walk." 

Jim pushed the cart a bit closer to the guy ahead of them, who glanced back nervously, clearly eavesdropping on their tense conversation. "I don't want to go to a movie." 

"What do you want?" Blair exploded. Several people looked his way; one checker paused for a few seconds to study them before going back to sliding items across the laser reader. "What do you want?" he repeated more quietly when Jim didn't answer. 

At last, Jim shrugged, and lightly drummed his fingers on the handle of the cart. "Dunno." 

"You just felt compelled to fill up my fridge and pantry." 

"You don't have a pantry." 

"I have a metaphorical pantry, which you are trying to fill. Why?" Jim looked evenly at him, silent, unreachable. Blair began to blush. He kicked at the rear wheel of the cart and sighed. "Thanks, Jim." 

"You're welcome, Sandburg." 

Finally, the line moved up a bit and the checker started on the next customer. The guy ahead of them glanced at them both again; Jim glared at him, and he turned hastily back to his own stuff. Blair smiled a little and looked at Jim, who only reluctantly met his eyes. Blair winked. 

"Knock it off, Chief," Jim whispered, but he was smiling, too. 

"Scaring the other customers," Blair murmured, and Jim nodded, smiling openly now. Blair stepped nearer to him, so their arms brushed against each other. 

"You know I've been working on shamanic journeys." 

"Shh." 

"I got that drumming tape just before I left and have been using it a couple times a week." 

"Jesus, Sandburg. At the academy? What if somebody finds out? What are you gonna tell them you're doing?" 

"Meditating. What's the big deal? Lots of people meditate. Listen, I'm trying to tell you something." 

"Well, don't tell me here." 

"Well, when and where, Jim? This is important to me." 

Jim looked at his friend, who was staring at him, almost vibrating in his intensity. "Okay, okay. Just keep your voice down." He leaned a little closer, dropping his head. 

Blair began to whisper. "So I listen to the tape and do this relaxation meditation, and then the guided visualization. I've tried it several times now, and each time it's more powerful. I don't even know how to describe it to you. 

"Remember that camping trip we took a few years ago? And we saw a big tree that had been struck by lightning that left a hole in the trunk?" Jim nodded. "I saw that tree, and knew I had to climb into the hole. Only it wasn't just a hole; it was like a door or portal, opening onto this enormous meadow. Really beautiful, with thick green grass and yellow and white flowers. I was walking through it, for a long time, crossing little streams. Everything smelled so sweet and fresh, and I could hear the sound of water running. 

"I came to a place where I could see someone had been before me -- I was following their footsteps. I hurried to catch up with them. I started running, but it was more like flying, or floating. I remember the air felt so good in my lungs, like I was being healed. I thought of the scar tissue from the pneumonia and bronchitis I had, and Jim, I know it's all healed now." 

Jim nodded, not taking his eyes off Blair's face. 

"At last I came to the edge of a cliff and had to stop. But I could see forever, just forever, and it was all so beautiful. I was really happy there, but I knew I had to go back. And then, down on the valley floor, far below me, I saw the person I'd been following. 

"Jim, it was you. Even though you were a long ways away, I could tell it was you. And as soon as I realized that, you stopped and turned and looked up at me. I waved, and you waved back, and I could tell you were smiling at me. Waiting for me. 

"Anyway, the drums were telling me it was time to return, so I went back and climbed up out of the hole in the tree." 

Jim nudged him, and he saw they could roll the cart forward a bit more. Only four more people ahead of them in the line, although every cart was as loaded as theirs. For a long time, Jim didn't speak, but continued to stand near Blair, their elbows touching. At last, Jim said, "It was me, hunh. What do you think that means?" 

Blair smiled and leaned against his shoulder. Jim smiled and leaned back. 

Finally, Jim said softly, "Only five more weeks, Chief. Think you can make it?" 

"With all these groceries? I could last another five months." 

Jim looked at him quickly. "We can always bring home what you don't use." 

* * *

Jim held on to Blair, his arms tight around him, and Blair's arms wound around his chest. They leaned against each other, relishing the warmth and pressure and comfort. "Better'n instant messaging, hunh, Chief?" 

"Mmm," he agreed, and took a deep breath. Jim knew he was breathing in Jim's own scent. 

"Is there anything else you need?" 

"No." Blair leaned back a bit, still not letting go. "You've fed me and stocked up the larder and cleaned the apartment and alphabetized my textbooks. I can't imagine what's left to do." 

"Just waiting for you to come home." 

Blair put his face against Jim's shoulder again and tightened his hold. "Seems like we do a lot of waiting." 

"Always have. Waiting in line, on stakeout, for somebody or something to turn up, for each other." 

"For this." 

"Yeah. I guess. It's hard for me to see it that way, though." 

"Not for me. I don't believe in coincidences, and I don't believe in chance. Things happen for a reason. My whole life, I was just waiting for this." 

"No, Blair, I can't believe that. We have choices, or we had them." 

"Past tense?" 

Jim gently shook him. "Yeah. At least, I don't have a choice anymore." He gazed down at Blair's face, so familiar. 

"Neither do I," he whispered. After a few minutes of quiet, he said, "You can't wait anymore, Jim. You have to go." 

"I know. I know." Still they stood in Blair's apartment, holding on to each other as if they could hold onto time. "I can hear your watch." 

Blair smiled into Jim's shirt, and rubbed his face against its soft texture. "Go, okay? Five more weeks." 

"I'll be waiting." 

"Then we won't be waiting anymore." 

"No more waiting." Jim's hand rubbed up and down Blair's back, soothing him, comforting him, reminding him. 

* * *

"What're you waiting for, Ellison?" 

"Blair. He'll be right back; had to run to Records." 

"How's it going with your new partner?" 

"Fine." Jim smiled. "Really fine." 

Simon slapped him on the back, and turned, briefcase in hand. "It's good to have him back. Just don't tell him I said so. But it was hell waiting for him." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good night, Jim." 

"Night, Simon." 

The doors closed behind him and Jim was left alone in the bullpen, waiting for his partner. He pushed some papers around on his desk, lining them up compulsively, and then started flipping through his in-basket, looking for a quick-and-easy task. Before he'd found one, the doors opened again, and Blair came in. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, man. Took longer than I thought, but I got 'em." 

"Leave 'em on your desk, Chief, and let's go home." 

"I'm down with that." He tossed them onto his desk, then weighted them with a stapler. "First ones in, last ones out. How long before I have enough overtime to take a day off?" 

"Last month." 

"Well, hell. I'm talking to Simon tomorrow." 

"Camping?" 

"Hanging around the loft sounds good to me. I missed it." 

"Can I stay home with you?" 

"I think that could be arranged." They smiled at each other, then Jim grabbed Blair's jacket and tossed it to him. "Home." 

"Home." Blair opened the glass doors to Major Crimes and preceded Jim out; he felt a warm hand in the middle of his back, gently resting there. Just waiting. He twisted his head to look back at Jim and discovered him smiling fondly at him. "Hey," he said softly. 

"Hey, Chief." 

"Can't wait to get home." 

"Me, neither." 


End file.
